...life Is Nothing But Trading Smells.

Today Each Of You Is The Object Of The Other’s Reading, One Reads In The Other The Unwritten Story.

Everything Can Change, But Not The Language That We Carry Inside Us, Like A World More Exclusive And Final Than One's Mother's Womb.

Something Must Always Remain That Eludes Us ... For Power To Have An Object On Which It Can Be Exercised, A Space In Which To Stretch Out Its Arms ... As Long As I Know There Exists In The World Someone Who Does Tricks Only For The Love Of The Trick, As Long As I Know There Is A Woman Who Loves Reading For Reading's Sake, I Can Convince Myself That The World Continues ... And Every Evening I, Too, Abandon Myself To Reading, Like That Distant Unknown Woman.

Why Come To Trude? I Asked Myself. And I Already Wanted To Leave. You Cand Resume Your Flight Whereever You Like," They Say To Me, "but You Will Arive At Another Trude, Absolutely The Same, Detail By Detail. The World Is Covered By A Sole Trude Which Does Not Begin And Does Not End. Only The Names Of The Airport Changes.

In General Confusion Youth Recognizes Itself And Rejoices.